Small Victories
by PurpleCadet
Summary: A one-shot fic. Set during season 4, Donna comes to Harvey's office after the case against Mike is resolved.


She finds him in his office, staring into the bottom of an empty glass – a creature of habit, if she ever knew one. It's late, even for him, but she imagines he'd rather be sulking here than the cold, empty condo he calls home.

He sighs as she takes a step inside his office. "Donna, I'm really not in the mood," he tells her, eyes focused on his bottle of scotch as he pours himself another glass. She ignores his words as she takes a seat beside him on the couch and snatches the glass of scotch before he can bring it to his lips. She swallows it in one long swig. Harvey quirks an eyebrow at her.

"By all means, help yourself."

She savours the burn of the expensive scotch as it slides down her throat. She sets her glass on the coffee table. "I'm sure you've already had plenty."

He plucks the glass out of her fingers and pours himself another. "Is that what we've come to? You're monitoring my alcohol intake?" He spits out, clearly trying to rile her. But to Donna, he just sounds tired more than anything else.

"I'm allowed to worry about you, Harvey. Actually, some might say it's my job."

He watches her over the rim of his glass. "It's not your job to babysit me."

"And yet I've been doing it for over thirteen years," she fires back.

Harvey gives her a lopsided smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He hands her his drink. She accepts it with a smirk and takes a small sip.

They stay silent for a while, passing the glass back and forth, with Harvey pouring another when they find it empty again. She feels her face flush, the alcohol warming her veins. She knows she should have eaten dinner, but her stomach has been in knots all day.

She feels Harvey slump beside her. His head lolls back against the couch. "What a major fuckup."

She wants to laugh at his colourful phrasing, but she knows just how rare it is for Harvey to admit such a thing aloud.

"You did what you had to, Harvey," she says carefully, even though the words come out sounding hollow.

"I lost," he replies stubbornly.

"You didn't lose."

"You sure about that?" He pulls his body back into a proper sitting position. His speech is slurred as he rattles a list off his fingers, "I lost the case, Logan Sanders has fired the firm – very publicly, I might add. Jessica is furious with me and Rachel has requested a transfer to _Louis, _of all people."

"But you did the right thing," she weighs in, "For _Mike_."

He scoffs. "A whole lot of good that has ever done me."

Donna slams the glass of scotch on Harvey's coffee table. "Are you done?"

He furrows his brow, "Excuse me?"

"Are you finished? Can we move on from this pity party you seem so eager to throw yourself?"

"This is a big deal, Donna. We've taken a huge hit. _I've taken a huge hit_."

"But Mike is safe, his job his safe. We can finally move on from this bullshit rivalry between the two of you. So stop treating this as a defeat."

His gaze lands squarely on her. It's one of his tells – it always means she's gotten through to him and past that pesky façade of his.

"And how do I do that?"

She shrugs. "Celebrate the small victories."

He smiles at her for real this time; one that bears his teeth and highlights the lines in his face. He doesn't smile enough, she muses sadly.

He stands up suddenly, a little shaky on his feet. She watches him peel off his jacket and hastily drape it over the couch. He walks over to his vast collection of records and selects one, blocking the case from her view. He places it on the record player and lowers the needle.

"What –?"

He holds up a finger to his lips to silence her. It only takes a second for her to recognise it as one of his Dad's. She grins brightly at him to cover the tightening in her chest.

Harvey walks back over to her side and extends a hand. "What are you doing?" she asks with a fond roll of her eyes.

"Celebrating the small victories." Instead of waiting for her reaction, he clasps her hand, hoists her to her feet and pulls her toward the open space of his office.

He takes her other hand – the one he's not already holding, and places it on his shoulder. His hand drops to her waist. _God, it's been years since he's really touched her._

"Your arrogance is not charming," she says, unable to trust herself with anything other than a jibe.

"I disagree."

"You would."

It's slightly awkward at first, and they drunkenly laugh their way through their steps. But god, it's just so freeing to trample over all the usual boundaries of their relationship. It's so rare that they ever allow themselves to just _be _with one another.

What a silly image they must make; swaying together like two teenagers in their rumpled corporate attire. Feeling bolder, Donna toes off her heels and lets her feet sink into the carpet. Harvey's taller than her, but she doesn't mind. He puts her other hand around his neck and wraps both of his around her waist.

It startles her, and for a moment she forgets herself, and Harvey (normally more obtuse) notices. He leans closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" he teases.

She steps on his feet intentionally. "Don't get cocky." His hands tighten around her frame in retaliation. He really is a child sometimes, testing the limits when he knows he shouldn't.

He comes closer again, taunting her. "Donna, you are…a terrible dancer."

She punches his shoulder. "And you do not deserve me," she remarks with a flick of her hair.

His face grows serious. "I've always known that," he confesses, voice barely above a whisper. Donna tenses in his arms, trying to focus on the movement of her feet and the music playing softly around them.

"Harvey…"

"Donna."

They do this a lot; saying each other's names in place of what they actually want to say. Some might call it a self-preservation tactic.

"You're drunk," she notes.

"Not that drunk," he argues.

"Now is not the time," she says vaguely. It's been a long day, and an even longer few months. Harvey's still raw and she is not at all in the right frame of mind to even broach the conversation they're almost having.

"Then when?" he asks her, stubbornly refusing to let the moment pass. "In another ten years?"

_That _definitely sobers her. She drags her eyes away from his. "That's not fair."

"I know." Harvey's grip around her loosens as he sighs, all of his exhaustion and frustration finally seeping through. "How long are we going to keep kidding ourselves, Donna?"

"Just a little while longer."

The record stops. _How utterly perfect._ They've been dancing longer than she realised.  
She's suddenly all too aware of the silence, of the scotch on her tongue, of their closeness. She removes her hands from his neck and his reluctantly fall from her waist.

Donna slips back into her heels and Harvey slides his suit jacket back onto his shoulders; each piece of armour back in place.

He walks her to the elevator and they ride down together. They come to the exit and she welcomes the sudden chill from outside, the way it clears her muddled thoughts.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Harvey." She shakes off the urge to kiss him goodnight.

"Donna," he says, voice ringing out through the quiet floor. She cocks her head quizzically. "I don't mind waiting."

For a second she gapes at him before her lips morph into a soft smile. His do the same.  
It's not a promise or a declaration, it's not much of anything really, but it feels like a small victory.

* * *

**So this randomly came to me after the latest episode and I just felt like I had to get it out so I'd love to hear what you think. I'm in the process of planning a multi-chapter fic so I hopefully I can start contributing more to the fandom again! Loving all the Harvey/Donna stories that have been popping up lately :)**


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